


A Cabin In The Woods

by KoolJack1



Series: Hannibal Kink Meme Prompt Fills [15]
Category: Hannibal (TV), Hannibal Lecter Series - All Media Types, Hannibal Rising (2007)
Genre: Angst, Animals Make Everything Better, Child Abuse, Child Neglect, Friendship, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Physical Abuse, Self-Harm, Sexual Abuse, it hurts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-17
Updated: 2015-07-12
Packaged: 2018-03-23 08:09:13
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 8,113
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3760972
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KoolJack1/pseuds/KoolJack1
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hannibal is thirteen and runs away from the orphanage when he feels that a fate of the elements will be better than the fate of abuse.</p><p>He finds a small cabin in the woods, thinking warmth will be all he finds.</p><p>He also finds Will.</p><p>Please refer to the tags for TW.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

He's so cold. His body was aching until he pushed through it and found every inch of himself numb. He stumbles along; the snow well past his knee in some place. In those spots, he tries to crawl, soaking his flimsy shirt and turning his skin bright red. He tries to count in his head how long he's been walking, wonders if he can make it back to the orphanage. They would beat him senseless, surely. They would punish him until he was bedridden for leaving. He weighs the options in his head; freeze to death, starve to death, or try to make it back to the orphanage and potentially be beaten to death.

The wind howls and he tries to huddle against a tree until it stops; the cold stinging his eyes and freezing his tears to his cheeks. It's only leaning against the tree that he feels the weakness of his body. It would be so simple to slid down the rough bark and shut his eyes. His stomach twists from emptiness and he opens his mouth to scream but only a rush of air leaves his chest. He can't stand anymore, and his legs give out. The snow catches him gently and he blinks and tries to admire the last scene he will ever see.

Dimly, through the trees, he sees a cabin concealed behind the snow drifts and fog. His heart pounds because he's so close and he just has to stand up. One more time, he just has to crawl the distance and then he can be warm. It's the last of his strength, his skin beat red and unfeeling, to drag himself through the snow and to the door of the cabin. He can't stand to open the door, can barely raise his arm high enough to reach the handle, his fingers twisting helplessly to turn the knob. More tears on his face because his hands aren't working to open the door and he's so close. He presses himself against the door and slowly works his way to his knees; eye level with the handle he uses both hands to twist the knob and he falls through the door.

The gush of warmth rips through his nerves and he gasps at the shockwave of pain. Every inch of skin tingles back to life and goes on fire within seconds, and he barely manages to kick the door closed behind him before he curls against the rug and opens his mouth to scream again. The pain is so real that it reminds him he's alive, and he lays still and lets it consume him. His tears sting his frozen cheeks on the way down his nose, where they drip onto the rug, and he focuses on the small dark spots they leave in their wake.

Minutes tick by before his body starts to calm down again, followed by a clench in his belly that reminds him he hasn't eaten in days. He forces himself to his knees again to crawl the short distance to the cabinets. There isn't much, and the first thing he grabs is bread. He crams it in his mouth, swallowing such large chucks her nearly chokes.

One hand pushes more into his mouth, and the other seeks blindly on the counter for something else to eat. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he registers a deep shame at turning into a desperate animal; the acknowledgement sends more tears down his cheeks as he shovels a piece of bread with mold on it past his lips.

He never gets to swallow it; his stomach revolting at the sudden influx of food sends him face first to the floor. He heaves up the barely digested food, spitting it right onto the floor. He throws up again, wondering if he will eventually have to eat this, too. If it will be between that and starving to death.

The door opens then, a gun coming through the door first, followed by a tall, dark haired man and five dogs. Hannibal heaves again, his stomach jolting, before he turns to back himself into the corner. The man with the gun shuts the door slowly, pointing his gun around the room while he looks around. The dogs run to him, and he instinctively covers his face in fear that they'll bite him. Instead, warm tongues drag along the backs of his hands and his neck.

"Lay down," the man commands, and instantly, the dogs are gone. Hannibal looks up then, to find that the man no longer has his gun raised. "I saw your tracks in the snow, leading to the door. I was unsure what I was walking into." Hannibal blinks at him, glancing at the bread and then back up at the man. "If you eat slower, it won't make you sick. And chew."

He feels frozen in time, too afraid to move out of fear that the stillness will shatter and this man will hurt him. He's far too accustomed to what happens to boys who try to steal food or go where they do not belong. The man takes a step towards him, and his chest feels too heavy to breathe. In the corner, he has no where to back up to, no way to get away. He looks from the man to the door, wondering if he could even stand quick enough to run to the door and get outside.

He doesn't know where he'd go, he has no idea what to do with himself, but when the man takes another slow step towards him, he doesn't care. He shoots upward, trying to get his feet under him and stumbles in the direction of the door. He doesn't take a full step before he's falling face first towards the floor. Strong arms grab his shoulders and pull him upright, and his mind goes blank.

He flails helplessly, swinging his arms to free himself from the grasping hands. His sight starts to narrow, and he only then realizes his breathing is shallow and labored. His struggles weaken when his body loses the adrenaline and the lack of oxygen makes his head heavy. The man holds him still until he goes boneless, then he keeps him from collapsing. "Easy," the man whispers, "Calm down, you're alright."

Everything goes black.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Un'betad

Will carries the nearly weightless boy to the couch, shushing the flurry of nerves from his dogs. He places the child on the cushions, taking in his appearance. His clothes are soaked, but conceal whatever damage is on majority of his skin aside from his neck and wrists. Dark molten bruises ring around his wrists and his throat; Will tries to pretend he doesn't know how they got there. The acute shivering of the boy takes Will's attention and he mechanically works to unbutton his cold shirt and slips the boneless limbs from the garment. He leaves the boy for only a moment, to get his warmest clothing, and sits the boy up to pull a sweater over his head.

The child remains unresponsive, but his chest rises and falls to indicate that there is still life inhabiting the wounded body. And there are wounds; up and down his ribcage that is far too prominent on a boy that should be going through puberty. Will stares at his ribs for a moment, watching the way they shift under his skin with each breath. His hip bones protrude at his waist, his body past the point of thin and well in the danger zone of starvation. He pulls the sweater down and holds the boy against him to get a good look at his face. His cheeks are hollow, his lips broken and chapped. Will wonders if someone is missing him, but he doesn't dwell on the thought.

He eases the lifeless body back to the sofa and reaches for the ties on his pants to exchange them with a pair of his dry cotton pants. The bruising on his pelvis is alarming and extensive. His thighs are spotted with darker bruises and older, yellow ones. Will bites his lip and it dawns on him that this boy took a beating that went beyond the scuffle between teenagers. He suffered.

The only warning he gets that the boy is awake is a jerk of his legs before small hands grab him. Silently, the boy pushes his hands away. His eyes are huge, and as soon as Will looks up at him, he looks up at the ceiling. Will stays completely still, letting the boy hold his hands away from his body. Without looking away from the ceiling, tears leak from the corners of his eyes and the hands fall away. It comes to him in waves; the first of pure fear, giving way to resignation, and then submission. His pants are halfway down his thighs, and the boy tugs at the waist band to cover himself back up again. "I was trying to change your pants; they're soaking wet and you're very cold."

The boy doesn't look away from the ceiling, doesn't release his grip on the band of his pants. "I don't want to hurt you, I'm not going to. I want to help you," he reaches out slowly to touch the boy's face to get his attention, and is met with a flinch. The boy blinks at him, his expression empty. "Where did you come from? Did you get lost?" The boy swallows, digging a hand in his pants pocket for the soggy piece of paper. The moisture ran the ink of the picture and the writing, but he holds it up to the man. Will takes it gently and unfolds it to examine the picture. The image captured the boy and an even younger girl, both radiant and smiling. On the back, in smeared ink, two names. Hannibal, age eight and Mischa, age three. "You're Hannibal? I'm Will."

The boy snatches the picture back, "Why don't I put it on the heater? It will dry it out, hopefully save the ink." He relinquishes it again to Will, watching him closely when he puts it exactly where he said he would. "Hannibal, I need you to put on these pants. Your body needs to warm up." The resistance is gone from the boy, and he does exactly what he's told. Will remembers being this young, embarrassed and ashamed of his own body, and he spares the boy and looks away. Hannibal sits propped against the back of the couch in clothing ten sizes too big for him, and stares at Will blankly. "Someone was abusing you, did you run away?"

Hannibal looks away then, color darkening his face. Will takes pity again, sitting down in the chair across from him. "It's very obvious you were being hurt, I don't blame you for trying to escape that. I know there isn't very many places for you to go out here, and I'm not angry you came inside." He's met with only silence, the boy never raises his eyes to look at him. "You don't speak," Will states, and that gets Hannibal's attention. He looks up at Will, then at the dogs laying in the corner. "You can stay here, Hannibal. When the winter breaks, we can figure something out. I promise you, no one will hurt you again."

Hannibal looks from Will to the dogs, his dark eyes and the shadows under them standing out on his colorless face. Like a ghost that found no peace from their haunted souls, even in death. "Are you in any pain?"

Will watches closely for any signs of discomfort, notching the way his arms stay curled around his middle. "Can I have a look at your belly? Just to see what exactly is hurting you." The boy looks at him like he doesn't believe a word he says. Apprehensive of the way Will looks at him, adverse to him coming closer again. He also looks too tired to put up a fight, and he slowly lays back again. Something in Will breaks at the glisten of fresh tears on his face and the instant tension when he comes forward to kneel at the side of the couch. "Lift your shirt up for me," he whispers, but as soon as he raises his hands to assist, Hannibal is struggling to sit up.

The pain blooms in his chest, but fight or flight has him desperate to get to the door. It was a mistake to leave the orphanage, it was a mistake to come inside someone else's cabin. He could have stayed at the orphanage, at least known who-

A cool nose presses against his face and he flinches away, only to realize it's the snout of a dog. His hands grasp at the dogs fur to pull it closer. Front paws come up on the couch next to him, a big head pressing against his collarbones. "This is Winston. I found him a few years ago, wandering around the woods," Will tells him, watching from the side of the couch as the boy clings to the fur on the dogs side. "He was terrified of me, even though he was starving and wounded. Someone had broken his leg and stabbed him, then left him to die."

Hannibal looks the dog in the eye, seeing his tail swing back and forth out of the corner of his eye. "It took me days to gain his trust enough so he would let me near enough to help him. It was only after he was too weak to fight that I could. Now he's one of my pack."

Hannibal releases the fur to wrap his arms around the dog's neck instead. Winston comes closer willingly, pressing his face to the boys cheek. "I'm going to take a look now." Even though he's been warned, the hands lifting his shirt still makes him cringe. He squeezes the dog closer, inhaling sharply at the first press of Will's fingers against the center of his belly. They move slowly, feeling along the ridges of his bones. They prod against his ribs, and a shot of pain leaves him in a gasp of air. "Here?" He does it again, and Hannibal tries to fold himself in half, only to find the weight of the dog holding down his chest.

"It doesn't feel broken, but it's badly bruised. I could wrap your ribs until the bruises fade." Winston licks his face, comforting him. "He likes you," Will says, and he looks over the dog's head to see the man looking at him. Will watches him closely, smiling sadly when he looks away just as quickly. "You look so tired."

The boy looks much older than he is; in reality he can't be much older than thirteen, but the dark circles under his eyes and the uncertain way his eyes flicker around as if the world is out to get him, ages him by ten years. "How about I make you some soup? It will warm you up and quiet your stomach." Winston slides free from Hannibal's arms when his job is done, and the boy tugs his shirt back down and slowly pulls himself to sit up. His arms huddle his middle and he swallows heavily when his mouth floods with saliva. He wants to ask politely for the food, beg if he has to, but his vocal cords remain silent and still.

Will notices the compulsive swallowing and decides it's hunger and not nausea. He offers a reassuring smile before he stands to prepare the boy something to eat, watching him huddle on the couch from the corner of his eye. He doesn't make the soup too hot, for fear that the boy will overindulge and burn himself. He stirs in left over meat from his previous hunts and rips some bread to stir in. The vegetables he has are nearly wilted, but he chooses the one's that still have some crunch for extra substance and walks back to the couch. The boy is slumped to the side, eyes closed and mouth open. Will doubts he's sleeping, doubts his mind can relax enough to sleep right now, but his body demands he rests.

The sound of the bowl being set down jerks him back to alertness, and he doesn't spare Will a glance before he sinks to his knees before the table and tilts the bowl to his mouth. Will says nothing, allowing him to eat as he will even though the spoon sits untouched. It's only when the boy chokes does Will reach out to gently bring the bowl away from his mouth. "Easy, eat it slower and enjoy it. No one is going to take it away."

Hannibal listens, picking the chunks of food from the broth with his fingers to push them past his lips. He chews slowly, staring down into the bowl to avoid looking up at Will. Will watches his hands, taking note of how thin his wrists are under the shadow of a bruise. Someone had tied his wrists unforgivably tight; the bruise on his neck suggests someone choked him. The faint outline of fingers are visible under the boy's ears, holding his throat tightly enough to cut off his airways. "Was it your parents that left those bruises on you?"

Hannibal freezes and looks up at him quickly before scooping out a chunk of soggy bread. Will looks on, watches the way the boy tries to mentally retreat from him, only for Will to focus harder. Hannibal would be the boy that was hard to handle, difficult to control. Fear governing his being enough that he physically can not submit. Bad children get restrained, the even worse ones get beaten and worse. Will shuts his eyes to watch a grown man latch onto the boy's throat and hoist him up against a wall. Hannibal's mouth gapes like a water starved fish for the moments that he hangs there. The fingers grip tightly under his jaw and he splutters and thrashes to be released, crumbling to the floor in a heap when the large hand releases it's death grip.

The mental retreat wasn't enough, and when Will opens his eyes, Hannibal is back on the couch. Will doesn't pry any further, and instead goes to get the boy a blanket to rest under. "I think you should sleep, it will do you well." Hannibal drags the blanket around his shoulders and watches Will carefully. "What would make you feel safer?"

The silence holds with Hannibal's stare unwavering. "Just lay back and shut your eyes, I can go in the other room." Hannibal gives no indication of an answer, but he does rest his head against the arm of the couch. Will doesn't hover; he settles for taking the empty bowl to the sink and filling a cup with water and collecting some crackers to leave near the couch. Should he wake up hungry or thirsty, he wouldn't have to try to get anything himself. Depleted of energy, the boy doesn't even twitch when Will leaves the cup and crackers on the table.


	3. Chapter 3

He cleans up Hannibal's mess from his arrival, discarding the half vomited bread into the bin. There was nothing else to be done for him right now, and Will quietly left him be so he could rest for a few hours. The dogs huddled on his bed, but through the doorway he could see Winston loyally perched beside the couch, keeping watch over his new companion.

It's dark outside when Will opens his eyes again, disorientated from whatever had pulled him from sleep. The dogs on the bed are awake, Winston is pawing at his hand, and the source of the disturbance cries out and startles Winston back to the couch. Will jumps from the bed and joins him, finding Hannibal tangled in his blanket and crying uncontrollably. Heart in his throat, Will kneels to bring himself to eye level, unsure how to help. Will settles for touching the boy's face, stroking his hair from his eyes and quietly shushing him.

The contact surprises Will by soothing the hysterical crying to sobs, then Hannibal is turning towards him. He's awake enough to reach for Will and pull himself closer. Will doesn't try to stop him; instead he gets his arms under his back and holds him up so he can hug him. Hannibal cries into his shirt, clinging to the material on his back.

Will shuts his eyes and lets the boy cry himself out until he merely lays against him tiredly. "Do you want to try to sleep again?" He asks after nearly fifteen minutes. Hannibal only holds him tighter, no desire to release the man. "I'll be just in the other room."

Slowly, his shirt is released and the boy leans back to rest again. Will stands to wet a cloth and returns to press it to the boy's tear stained cheeks. "Just relax," he whispers, a knot is his chest when the boy sags against the couch. Will wonders how many nights he screamed and cried with no one to comfort his nightmares. He wondered how many nights he couldn't sleep at all. How many meals did he skip for his skin to nearly be translucent? What could he possibly have done to deserve the intense beatings that left the marks all over him?

He drags the cool rag over his face gently, keeping his movement constant and predictable to allow the boy to keep his eyes closed. Will only stops when the boy is breathing deeply and evenly again; then he leaves the towel on the table and retreats to his bed again.

He doesn't sleep this time, too keen on listening for a disturbance in the quiet. The dogs are settled until Will hears Hannibal get up off the couch. He waits, hearing him creep towards the room and then stand by the bed. "You can come up." Hannibal crawls up the foot of the bed then, over the dogs and up to Will. Something feels wrong in Will's chest to have this boy he doesn't even know in his bed, but the child looks at him like he's adrift in an ocean. Will reaches out a hand for the boy to take, and he does, timidly. "You're afraid to be by yourself?"

In reply, Hannibal moves closer to lay against Will's arm, pressing his face into Will's side. It's quiet, nearly peaceful, and Will lets the boy lay against him and wonders again if he had ever been given the comfort that he was looking for. Hannibal sleeps quietly after that, finding rest now that he doesn't have to be alone. He sleeps so deeply that when Will wakes again, it's getting brighter and Hannibal hasn't move a muscle. Will imagines that it was the first real sleep he had gotten for who knows how long, so he chooses to let him be. He slips out from under the boy and tucks the quilt around his shoulders, lingering only to make sure the movement didn't disturb his rest.

The dogs are happy to be set free through the front door, but Winston stays loyally on the bed. The emotional realizations of animals never failed to astonish Will. Winston felt Hannibal's need for security and was determined to offer just that, and so Will doesn't insist he joins the others outside. The cold in the house settled deep through the night, so Will sets to start a fire before he fixes something for them to eat. Hunting was limited, since the dead of winter had disturbed the lives of many of the creatures he sought for food. The rabbit he had caught yesterday and left in the cold overnight made well for broth, and he prepared as much food as he could, enough to feed Hannibal as much as the boy could eat.

The aroma of the meat must summon the boy from sleep, and he wanders cautiously and silently into the kitchen to observe from the doorway. Will smiles at him slightly, his hair ruffled from rest and his clothes nearly falling off of him. "I made us something warm today, hopefully-"

The knock on the door startles them both, but Hannibal shrinks back against the nearest wall and stares at the door with wide eyes. Will says nothing, unsure who would be knocking. He'd never had a visitor before. Hannibal is stone still, but his eyes dart from the door to Will when he takes a step towards the door. Hannibal looks as though he wants to stop him from opening it, terrified of whoever is beyond it, but instead he disappears like a ghost down the hallway.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Still un'beta'd

Will picks up the shotgun from where it leans near the door and unlatches it to see who's outside. Three men in uniforms and stern expressions stand armed at the door. "Good morning?"

"Sorry to bother you so early, but we are looking for one of our boys we've been housing at the orphanage. Dark hair, dark eyes, thin. He decided to leave the grounds yesterday evening. Goes by the name Hannibal." Will blinks once, wonders where Hannibal has hidden himself, and frowns.

The dogs come running back through the door then, pushing their way inside. Winston growls from behind Will, "I haven't seen any children. It was a a nasty night… I'm not sure he would have made it through."

Will starts to worry when none of the men seem to believe him. "We managed to follow his tracks well into the woods, we lose them about two miles away from here, but there is no body to show for if he didn't make it."

Will swallows once, "It's slim eats, people and animals alike are eating whatever they can find."

"No blood."

Aggravated now, Will sighs, "If hunters found him and took him, there wouldn't be blood or a body. What would I want with an orphaned boy?"

One of the men peer past him and into the house, and Will has had enough. "If I come across him, I will return him to you. Until then, I can not be of any help."

They stand in silence for a moment, and then one of the men nod, "Thank you for your time."  
Will doesn't respond, and instead shuts the door and relatchs it. Will stands there in the quiet for a moment before he wanders back through the house to find where Hannibal had hidden. Winston gives him away, sitting dutifully beside one of Will's chests. "Hannibal?" he questions, kneeling in front of the box. "You can come out, they left. It's alright."

He lifts the lid to peer inside, finding the boy curled on his side with his face buried in his hands. "I didn't tell them you were here, I wouldn't give you back to them," Will soothes when he touches the boy's back and finds that he's trembling. Will sighs once, sitting beside the chest and petting the side of the boy's head. Hannibal is unresponsive for minutes, while Will maintains his patient stroking to sooth the fear that has the boy in shock.

"You knew who was at the door, you knew someone would come looking for you," Will muses out loud, not expecting an answer. "You ran away knowing they would come looking for you- and there was no way for you to know that my cabin was out here. You didn't have a plan on where you were going to go," and then he realizes why it didn't matter. "You didn't care, you ran away with the thoughts that you were going to die from exposure. It was…" a suicide mission. 

"Dying was a better option to you than staying where they were. Maybe you thought they were going to kill you anyway." Hannibal moves then, finally, and sits up slowly. His eyes are bloodshot, his face even more pale than it was before. The boy looks at him quickly then down at his lap, and Will notices the wet spot in the front of his cotton pants. He was so afraid that he had wet himself, Will frowns at the thought and wonders what exactly had been done to this child. "I can clean it up, don't worry. You were afraid."

Hannibal licks his dry lips and looks up at Will from under his hair, and he reaches a tentative hand out to touch Will's arm. All he can do is offer a small smile in return, pleased that the boy would even make the effort to connect with him. "Whatever was done to you Hannibal, you don't have to be afraid of it anymore." Hannibal is leaning towards him before Will can register it, and dry, chapped lips are pressing against his uncertainly. Shock keeps Will motionless; both unresponsive and unable to pull away. It's an unexperienced kiss; jerky and uncomfortable, clearly an attempt to mirror a past experience.

In a second, Will is gently pushing the boy back and away, inhaling deeply to settle his mixture of anger and discomfort. Hannibal looks at him like a deer in headlights, confused as to why Will would push him away, and afraid that he will be punished. "Who kissed you to make you think it was okay to kiss me?" As soon as the words leave his mouth, he winces and reaches out to tilt Hannibal's face up to look at him again. "I'm not angry, I think you're very confused right now and that's alright. I just want to know, did someone kiss you before?"

Hannibal looks away again, impulsively, before looking back at Will quickly and offering the slightest of nods. Will blinks once, offering a tightlipped smile, "That's okay. You didn't do anything wrong, it's just inappropriate to kiss someone much older than you, especially on the lips." The explanation settles the tension, though Will is not sure Hannibal understood what he meant, but he drops the issue and moves to stand. "Lets get your pants changed and fed."

Hannibal is cooperative with him, compliant to whatever Will says. He fishes fresh pants out and leaves them for Hannibal while the other wets his hands in the sink and cleans between his legs. Will tries not to stare at the way Hannibal winces when he touches himself, and he tries not to decide if it's pain or disgust.

The front rooms of the house had warmed from the crackling fire through the events, making the area much more comfortable. Hannibal wandered back out and scanned the room, absentmindedly scratching Winston behind the ears when the dog came to his side once more. The other dogs lay sprawled by the fire, sleeping their morning away contently. Will feels peaceful after the high emotions that were running just minutes before; the calm settles like a blanket over a fire. He transfers some of the food to a plate, offering it to Hannibal who nearly looks emotional at the site. "I made enough for you to eat as much as you want, but you must eat slowly."

Warm tears roll down Hannibal's sunken cheeks again when he takes the plate and slides his back down the cabinets until he's seated on the floor. The tears don't stop, even as he presses chunks of meat into his mouth, licking at his fingers to collect every crumb. Will feels his own throat close up with emotions and he joins the young man on the floor, his appetite gone.

"Someone did something horrible to you," he whispers when the fire pops and Hannibal flinches, nearly dropping the food in the process. "I'm not sure how to help you, but I want to. I don't have any children, but I do understand what it's like to be afraid and alone. I don't want you to feel that you have no one." Hannibal looks at him, his lips shiny with the grease from the meat. "I can only imagine what it was you were running from, what has you so afraid, but not everyone is going to hurt you."

Hannibal keeps eating in silence, and Will contemplates a way to draw him from his mutism. "Can you try to speak? I have a feeling you know how."

Hannibal still remains silent, and Will leaves him to eat his food, opting to fetch him a glass of water to go with it. He sets it down next to Hannibal's leg and decides to leave him be. "Thank you." The voice is a croak, broken from disuse and uncertainty. It's so quiet, Will isn't sure he didn't imagine it. He turns to look at Hannibal, smiling when the boy just stares back, and he knows he didn't imagine it after all.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Hannibal and Will talk.
> 
> Un'beta'd

Hannibal spends majority of his time sleeping. He settles for curling up against Winston or on the couch when Will leaves it unoccupied. Will doesn't say much, and Hannibal chooses to remain in his silence, though they are comfortable. Hannibal washes and clothes himself, eats calmly, and even cleans up after himself, staying behind when Will leaves to hunt them more food.

In the evenings, Will reads quietly by the fire. More often than not, Hannibal makes his way closer until he rests against Will and can look at the pages. It's difficult to determine if the boy knew how to actually read in English or not, but based on how his eyes move over the page, Will wants to believe he does.

Some days, the boy seems plagued by stress. He paces from room to room, unable to settle down for long, even to sleep. Will gently guides him to the couch on those days, ignoring the way he tenses involuntarily. Compliantly, the boy settles against Will on the couch. Will reads to him then, stroking Hannibal's hair comfortingly until the boy stops fidgeting and squirming, and relaxes.

Will begins to notice small changes in his behavior.

He begins seeking Will out for comfort more often, falling into an uneasy trust with him. Will sits on the couch and Hannibal finds his way under his arm to use him as a pillow. He likes when Will makes physical contact with him, as opposed to shying away from the touching. Hannibal watches everything Will does, constantly analyzing his every movement.

Sometimes, Will looks over at him to find tears running down his face. His knees are pressed up to his chest and he rests his face against them, blinking the tears from his eyes. Will's heart aches at the sadness he sees in those eyes during these moments, even though Hannibal only cries silently. It's proof that though the visible wounds have faded- the internal ones never will. He always offers a hand out to the boy then, silently reaching an olive branch to offer peace. He always takes it, deciding what to do with it each time. Will leaves him to do as he will; pressing the hand to his cheek or into his hair, once he even pulls the arm around his shoulders and cuddles against Will's side.

Hannibal never smiles, he rarely makes any noticeable facial expression beyond bouts of fear or sadness. Will wonders if he knows how to identify any other emotions, let alone express them. If Will doesn't pay attention to him for long enough, Hannibal attracts his attention the best he can. His moods swing wildly, going from withdrawn to needy and back all within minutes. One minute he can't be far enough away from Will, and the next he's standing so close that Will bumps him with every movement.

The longer he's there, the more comfortable he gets, and the more he reveals about himself. One day, Will leaves to gather wood, only to return to find Hannibal bleeding from his wrist. He drops the cuts and hurries to him, finding the wound has nearly stopped bleeding. Hannibal stares at him lifelessly, one of his knives clutched in his other hand. The self inflicted, superficial wound was only a sign of something worse, something deeper. Will washed and cleaned it without a word, only speaking when he's wrapping his wrist with a bandage. "What are you trying to tell me? What is it you want me to notice?"

He gets no response, and kneels before the boy to force their eyes to meet. "I want to understand. Do you want to kill yourself? Do you want my attention? Something else? Which is it?" The boy frowns at him and reaches out to touch Will's face. "You need help," he says gently, "I don't know how to get the help that you need."

Hannibal stares at him for a long time before he swallows heavily, "Yes." His voice is unsteady and weak, but Will smiles encouragingly.

"Yes what?"

"Help," he requests quietly, dropping his hand away from Will's face to let them fidget in his lap. 

"How? I will if you tell me how."

Hannibal is quiet for a moment, "Kill me." The words strike Will as if he's been slapped, and his mouth drops in surprise.

"I can't do that, and I don't want to," he says firmly, trying to keep his voice leveled.

Hannibal sighs then, staring at his hands where he rings his fingers together in his lap. "Talk?"

"You want to talk? We can talk about whatever you'd like." Will relaxes at the change, but the concern for suicidal thoughts stays in his mind.

"I don't know if I am alive," he confides, finally looking up at Will. His voice gains strength, the words more solid.

"You are alive. You're alive because you're strong and resilient. How did you get those bruises on you?"

"The…men. At the orphanage. The other boys. One of the men liked…" he trails off, looking away from Will again, "liked to choke me." The air hangs thick around them, and Will swallows the weight in his throat and tries to clear it when he still feels the clog.

"Did they have sex with you?" he finally says, reaching out to touch Hannibal's hands when his entire body tenses. He flinches away from the touch and Will lets him, waiting for the question to sink in.

"I didn't let them," he whispers, "but I couldn't stop them."

"I know," Will reassures, "I know it wasn't your fault."

"I'd let you," he says suddenly, "you've been so nice to me."

The gravity of how much this boy has been damaged falls at Will's feet and the air is sucked from the room as if it's a vacuum. "You're a child, Hannibal. What they did to you was wrong."

"Even if I wanted it?"

"Especially if you wanted it. Even if you're remembering it as if you did, your mind is playing tricks on you," Will argues, shutting his eyes to avoid seeing the look of innocence on Hannibal's face.

"I didn't with them."

Will wonders if he should take the boy to the authorities, turn him in and say he's a victim of war and needs psychological help. Where would they put a boy like him? "You owe me nothing for looking after you, I don't want anything from you." He can't even bring himself to say the word sex again, the disgust roiling in his stomach.

"I'm sorry," he admits, though Will isn't sure he even understands why he's apologizing.

"I know." The silence hangs again, and Will wonders what he should do from here. He can't turn the boy away when he tentatively wraps his arms around Will's neck and slides from the couch for a hug. His body has filled out from sharp bones thanks to regular meals; Will doesn't feel like he will crush every bone in his body anymore. Will stands slowly, keeping his hold on Hannibal until the boy understands and clings tighter to his neck.

Will drops him onto the bed enough to bounce him back up slightly, and before he can apologize for the not so gentle landing, he sees there is an actual smile on Hannibal's lips. He stares at it for a split second before smiling himself.


	6. Chapter 6

Hannibal gets sick a few weeks later; his temperature going so high he's nearly delirious. He shakes uncontrollably on the bed, despite the layers and layers that Will wraps him in. Will woke up to the sound of vomiting, finding Hannibal huddled over the toilet. Hannibal was so weak after that Will had to carry him back to the bed and wrap him in the warmest blankets he could find.

Outside, the snowstorm covers the ground in feet of snow; making the option of trying to find some medical attention even less likely. Hannibal sobs and squirms in Will's hold, twisting against the cool rag that Will holds to his face. Will tries to sooth the boy the best he can, speaking quietly to him in an attempt to calm him down.

"Everything hurts," he grits out between his teeth, pressing his face against Will's chest. Will flips the rag over and presses the damp side to his flushed cheek, "It's too cold," he moans in despair, then his eyes open, "Winston." Will doesn't protest when the dog instantly joins them on the bed, panting anxiously at the boy's obvious distress.

Hannibal curls around the dog and cries into his fur, leaving the front of Will's shirt damp from sweat. "Last night I dreamed about the orphanage. I always do, but I could feel it this time. I could feel them moving behind me and a hand around my throat. I woke up to this, and I can't stop thinking about it." The words are tough to decipher between the sobs, but Will manages enough to understand; the fever leaving Hannibal delirious enough to openly admit he's trapped in his nightmares.

He reaches to move both the dog and the boy, bringing both of their bodies to lay against his chest, "I'm here, no one can hurt you," Will reassures lamely, unsure what else to offer the boy for comfort. Hannibal untangles himself from the blankets and rises to his knees, barely giving a moment before plunging down to capture Will's lips in a kiss. It's less unsure than the first one; this one is made up of desperation, turning the kiss nearly violent.

As gently as he can manage, Will captures the boy's burning hot cheeks and pushes his face back, "No, Hannibal, no."

"If I have sex with you I won't think about them anymore," Hannibal insists, his sobbing restrained to hiccups as he stares down at Will with wide, unfocused eyes. He'd been forced to endure this conversation numerous times over the past few weeks, even when Hannibal was healthy. He hadn't tried to kiss Will again, but the sexual desire was there. His motivation to contain his frustration at the situation was that Hannibal was a young boy going through puberty while dealing with trauma. He could almost try to rationalize the boy's casual desire to seduce him with the knowledge. Not when Hannibal was hovering over him though; his eyes fever bright and his breathing labored.

"No. You're a child; having sex with someone else won't take away that pain you feel. If you're sexually frustrated, there's other ways to deal with that, but we can't have sex,” Hannibal stares down at him for a moment before he tiredly rests his face against Will’s neck, the heat burning against Will’s skin. He doesn’t try to make distance between them now, and he strokes the boy’s side in reassurance. Hannibal is quiet then, dozing off despite the persistent shaking. Every time he twitches in his sleep, Will tightens his hold and hushes him quietly, afraid he’ll fall into another nightmare. 

When he wakes up, he tenses briefly against Will; uncertain for a moment where he is and who is holding him. “I don’t feel well,” he murmurs against Will’s shoulder, burrowing closer to relieve some of the cold that’s centered at his core.

“I know,” Will offers back quietly, stroking his fingers soothingly against the boy’s overheated skin.

“I got sick once before, that I can remember,” he pauses to lick his dry lips; Will can feel his equally dry tongue brush against his skin, “I couldn’t even stand up, but they made me try to walk to the infirmary. I collapsed after a few steps, and they…” he stops again to attempt to clear his throat, and Will winces at the rough sound and reaches for the cup of water he left by the bed. He balances Hannibal in the sitting position and offers him the cup, which is empty in three large gulps. Relieved, Hannibal smiles at him slightly, “They dragged me there, said I would make the other children ill if I didn’t go. The nurses… they were never gentle. They stripped me and held me in freezing cold water,” his dark eyes focus on Winston, “I only remember screaming, but one of the nurses covered my mouth to muffle it. She did it for long enough that I passed out, my nose was too clogged to breathe well…” Will shivers at the image, offers the boy a small smile.

“They didn’t take care of you properly, you deserve to be treated better,” is the best he can come up with, but it makes Hannibal smile slightly.

“I don’t understand why you take care of me,” he admits, resting his head back against Will, “and why you ask for nothing in return. If you’re waiting to ask, you shouldn’t. I don’t have anything to give you beyond myself, which I have offered you.”

“I don’t want anything from you. I look after you because you’re just a child, Hannibal. Even if you don’t feel that way, it doesn’t mean it’s not true. I couldn’t imagine myself bringing you back after what I know, and I certainly can’t leave you outside. You’re no bother to me, I enjoy the company. That’s all, there are no other motives here.”

“The other boys used to touch themselves- before bed or in the shower,” Hannibal’s mind ventures and weaves between topics so easily, always throwing Will off balance and leaving him wondering if the boy is always speaking with double meanings. “I’ve tried. It makes me feel uncomfortable. One of the men at the orphanage showed me how.” Will winces at the words and swallows the sickness in his stomach, worsened by the fact that Hannibal doesn’t even understand how wrong that is.

“It’s something you get used to, there’s nothing wrong with it.” Hannibal coughs against his shoulder and shivers, reaching for the blanket to pull it up around his shoulders.

“Something about it feels wrong. I don’t know what to think about, then I think about the wrong things. They fill my head and twist and turn until it feels like my own hand is burning me.” Hannibal’s voice is weak, vulnerable; it hurts Will just hearing him speak.

“Experience will let you know what you should think about, you’re still young.” Hannibal is quiet then, breathing against Will’s chest with his eyes closed. He’s still shivering from a chill, so Will rubs his palms against the boy’s skin in an attempt to let the warmth seep in. This time, Hannibal sleeps more soundly, only being disturbed by his dreams nearly an hour later.

Nightmares are something Will understands all too well, but there is something about seeing Hannibal’s features contort in emotions beyond his control that leaves Will in pain. His breathing speeds up, his heart rate following; beating hard enough that Will can feel it against his chest.

“Mischa…” the boy whimpers pathetically, tears slipping free from under his closed lids. Will doesn’t wake him, instead he pulls the boy fully into his lap and presses his face to the long hair. His mother would hold him when he had nightmares, it was comforting enough to remember all these years later. He offers this same comfort to Hannibal now; rocking the boy slowly against his chest. “Mama no,” he groans, unconsciously tugging away from Will’s body to free himself of imagined cages. Will holds him steady, shushing him soothingly. The boy will get no rest if he wakes him now, he barely rests as it is.

“I’m right here Hannibal, everything is alright,” he murmurs, brushing the sweat damp hair from his face and laying back to take the boy with him. Minutes tick by, and slowly Hannibal falls into a more restful sleep, comforted by Will’s reassurance even in sleep.


End file.
